Reaper's Retribution
by C.J. Shepard
Summary: And old hunter returns to that which made them.


"Hello there Margaret." a filtered gravelly voice said as a faint light flicked on, illuminating the center of the otherwise pitch black room. In the center of the room was a chair, and in that chair was an old woman. Her wrists were bound behind her back. Her eyes opened sharply as she raised her head to see her captor. Revealing a wrinkled emotionless scowl on her frail face. Under her short gray hair was a cold, calculating, menacing stare. After all these years and despite her short and frail stature, her visage could still strike fear into even the strongest of hearts. She wore a black admiral's uniform, impeccably clean, adorned with golden stripes on the shoulders, emblazoned on the upper front corner of her uniform was the symbol of a black and white pyramid with a circle in it.

"You don't scare me, I knew this would happen, and it would be wise not to forget who made you, 067." she said calmly and emotionlessly as she looked directly into the armor clad individual's visored helmet who had leaned in.

"You didn't make me, but I sure as hell haven't forgotten what you have done." said the armored one, stepping into the small radius of light, hands behind his back looking down on the old demon. Her icy gaze reflected off the semi-triangular black T visor.

She recognized the pale ashen armor all too well. Due to the bulkiness of the armor it was impossible to tell even the gender of the individual underneath the underlying black bodysuit. The armor was once painted black not by the choice of the wearer but by necessity of the mission.

"I thought you were too virtuous to stoop so low as to exact revenge against a frail old woman.." she replied coldly, she was calm and collected not even the barest hint of nervousness showed.

"I'm a lot of things, virtuous isn't really one of them." they said crossing their arms. The armored one knelt down, bringing their visor to eye level with the ancient demon.

"I know that you know that I know that you've stooped much lower than this before." the soldier said dryly, staring into the abyss of her piercing cold eyes.

Without blinking, the abyss stared right back.

"As is if my predecessors hadn't done the same." she remarked almost taking pleasure in the jab, almost.

The soldier stood up, fist clenched, they knew that even the lightest strike of their armored fist would shatter her brittle old bones. Anger didn't get the better of them though, they weren't done with the ONI hag yet. "Catherine did what she had to, she never denied the things she did, we both know she was far closer to her little soldiers than you could ever conceivably have been to the weapons you created."

"It is foolish for one to feel for tools, they are simply a mean to an end." she said, bitter determination in her eyes. It wasn't the courage of an elderly person, content with life, prepared for death. No it was the look of someone who thought they were invincible.

The armored figure held their hands behind their back as they started to pace once more. "Margaret, do you know what the word ONI means?"

"Enlighten me."

"In Japanese, Oni, means _demon_ , and that's exactly what you and your other ONI cohorts were then and are still, _demons._ " the words dripped with venom, the kind of hatred that can only be built by years of unimaginable horrors.

"I seem to recall your kind being called something similar by the enemy." she replied quickly, unflinching. "The enemy that destroyed worlds, wiped out untold trillions of lives, the enemy _you, 067_ were created to destroy. After all, you, me, and those that came before aren't all the different in the end, we do what is necessary, by any means, even if others are unwilling. Whether it be creating monsters, or putting them down."

"NO!" the soldier shouted, pointing a gloved finger at her. "What Catherine did was wrong, but she took responsibility, she actually MADE them! THE CHIEF is a hero! We know full well that what you ordered against them was wrong! You don't create anything, you steal, you backstab, and you wipe out anything that doesn't serve you. She created heroes, what she did was wrong but she didn't deny it, she had paid her debt to humanity fully when HER creations not only saved humanity multiple times but also all sentient life in the entire gorram galaxy! YOU, authorized the creation of expendable weapons. Forty two may have been accidental casualties but the remaining thirty-three saved humanity. You sent over nine hundred to die, and here you are, having lived more than seven times longer than any of the little weapons made purely to lay down their lives to accomplish meaningless objectives! The Chief was responsible for defeating them, Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie died for NOTHING! Those that proved too valuable to throw into the meat grinder you had forged into your own personal little weapons of mass destruction. Some got to die noble deaths, in service alongside fellow soldiers and marines, not as children sent to die in a battle that none would remember because it was too ugly an inconvenient truth for you to let out! But not me, not the headhunters, not any of your other secret little black ops commandos. You turned me, a child hungry for revenge, into a monster. When heroes no longer proved useful and you needed them to be swept under the rug, you sent me in. When a little pet project went awry, you sent me in. We both know you had something to do with the unwitting death squad sent after the Chief. You tried to take down Catherine for something you had done to a far more horrific extent. That isn't what broke me though, you tricked some new guys into going after that one. You authorized attempted genocide against an ally. An ally instrumental in saving everyone. They found the truth, their holy war against us was a lie, so they rebelled. Now isn't that ironic, you advocated genocide against a people who were trying their best to make reparations for their crimes. Even worse, you didn't even bother doing it in a stand up fight, you ordered other people to get traitors to start a war against their own people to wipe themselves out. " the warrior grabbed the decrepit demon by the neck and lifted her up with a single hand.

Staring directly into her cold, soulless eyes, he continued passionately. "You, are lower, than low. You have no remorse, or empathy, all you care about is power. Your career wasn't one of tragic victories, but of backstabbing trickery. But that's the only thing you truly fear isn't it, the truth? If the truth were to come out, you'd be recorded in the annals of history as a monster. You have not only committed crimes against humanity, but against all sentient life in the galaxy!" the scarred one dropped her against the floor, lucky it didn't snap her spine.

She looked up at the visor, with the same fear inducing, emotionless gaze that had bolstered many a horrible act. "Don't pretend you're doing this for altruistic reasons, that you're some sort of righteous knight in shining armor riding atop a white horse, 067."

The battered armor knelt down, voice becoming softer.

"I'm not so delusional as to pretend this isn't personal, Margaret. After all, few things in our line of work are. The difference between us, you ONI bastard, is that I never went too far. I still remember the last mission you sent me on all too well. An entire squad that never officially existed of your special little monsters that never officially existed were wiped out on a mission that never officially existed, destroying a facility that never officially existed, full of secrets that never officially existed. All except one, one broken little soul, a living weapon that supposedly never existed in the first place, from a secret project that supposedly no longer existed. A malfunctioning weapon is no longer useful after all, and one that is no longer controllable. A dirty little secret that if the truth about was found out, would spell an end to your backstabbing ways. But you had covered it up, no one would find her, but she was still a loose end, and loose ends tend to get caught in something and cause everything to unravel. So you sent me to tie it up, you told me that it was an unauthorized experiment that went mad and conveniently wiped out the little splinter cell that supposedly created them, that if _it_ wasn't put down, many innocent lives would be lost. Only when I got there _it_ , turned out to be a scared little girl, not even sixteen. Driven mad by seeing the closest thing she ever had to family killed senselessly. Now I didn't realize this until I already had a gun to her head. The thing is, blood-lust filled mad berserkers don't cower and sob in the corner of an empty ship when confronted by a single enemy. I knew my orders, pull the trigger, set the ship to self destruct, report back, scrub report. Clean and simple, but I couldn't do it, I wouldn't do it. You have no problems with sending hundreds of children to their deaths, but I refused, it wasn't a frenzied wolf, but a scared lamb. I vowed I would end it. Funny thing is, the fact that children were ever used has been covered up, they use volunteering actual soldiers now. After all heroes aren't born, they're forged, and Spartans. Spartans never die."

The armored spectre stood up, from their right thigh they pulled out a large, black-plated, heavy caliber pistol, under its larger caliber barrel extended by a silencer, extended mag jutting out, laser dot projected firmly upon her forehead. It wasn't an instrument of war, but of death, of silent death, its caseless explosive rounds left little intact and its flash suppressed, silencing extension ensured that nothing more than a quiet whisper preceded death. It was a weapon designed to kill without a trace, leaving nothing behind. They cocked the pistol and pointed it down at the wretched corpse of a woman.

"So now you seek your revenge, by killing an old woman, already dying, how heroic." she replied, not a single thing seemed to phase her, as she laid against the wall, frail and broken, powerless for the first time she can remember.

"I'm not a hero on a pure white steed, but I have not come to kill you. Today, I'm not the Pale Rider sat upon an ashen horse." The broken one's hand went up to their helmet, gun still pointed, it undid one seal, then another, another, and finally when the fourth seal was broken, the helmet hit the floor with a clank. From its speakers, helmet still facing the ONI witch, a foreboding message was delivered. "Come, behold the pale horse, for you shall know them as Death."

Her eyes widened in surprise, something never seen before on her icy gazy. As she looked upon what once was girl, a broken child forced to war. Her once innocent eyes, formerly overcome with tears, were burning, burning with steely determination and drive that only one who has been truly broken before can experience. With a quick finger movement, and near inaudible click. The devil, was no more, without as much as a sigh to signal its end...

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